


Acolouthic

by caritivereflection



Category: Four Brothers (2005)
Genre: Discussion of childhood sexual abuse, F/M, Gen, Underage Drinking, Underage Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-18
Updated: 2015-07-18
Packaged: 2018-04-07 22:55:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4281081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caritivereflection/pseuds/caritivereflection
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For all his protests against Jack being girly or a fairy, Bobby sure as hell liked to make his little brother talk about his feelings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on ff.net as two separate works, Acolouthic (the first 3 chapters) and Campouts on Rooftops (the final two). It has undergone minor edits in addition to being combined into a coherent whole.

She was older, maybe fifteen, and her long brown hair swayed in time with her hips as she walked. Jack was thirteen, but he was tall and most people guessed his age a year or two too high.

She didn't even ask him to move, just giggled and brushed the swell of her small breast against his arm as she reached for a cup of punch.

Of course Jack was loitering around the snack table. Why not? Everyone here was at least in high school, most even older than that, and his brothers had already taken off to chat with friends or, in Bobby's case, a girl. He didn't know why they bothered to bring him, except that mom had probably insisted they include him, without knowing that it meant dragging Jack along to a party where the access to beer proved way too easy. Jack had already had two, his third slowly warming in his hand as he sipped and watched the world walk by, all the people he didn't know or only knew through his brothers mingle and dance and live their lives. All while he was abandoned at the snack table.

"I'm Cindy," she said, holding a clear plastic cup of bright red liquid loosely with both hands. She had clear green eyes, and they were unusually light and vibrant, not dark or kinda blue like green eyes usually were.

"Jack," he heard himself answering. It was unconscious, and before he knew it they were talking, flirting, and Jack had no idea what he was doing but he just tried to play it cool like he'd seen Angel and Bobby and sometimes even Jerry do a million times.

She was eating it up, laughing and batting her eyes and touching her hair. Jack heard somewhere that a girl always played with her hair when she was talking to a guy she liked, and that thought sent his brain into Holy Shit mode and he might have stopped talking mid sentence. Something about guitars.

She didn't seem to mind, though, draining the last gulp of her punch and leaving nothing but tiny droplets clinging to the ridges of the cup. She set it down on the fold out card table and brushed her hand over his shoulder, fingers pressing through the soft corduroy ridges of the jacket into his skin.

"You want to go somewhere quieter?" she asked and Jack didn't see why. It was a party and, sure, there was music and stuff, but it wasn't all that loud and-Ooh.

Quieter like that.

Jack felt his heart beating in his throat and his skin was warm and his fingertips were numb, like they're frozen or maybe fell off while he was looking at her eyes and the way her brows curved and a few stray hairs stood out at the very top of the arch.

"Sure," he said, and that was how he ended up in the laundry room of a stranger's house at a party, music pumping in the background while Cindy sucked on his lip and grabbed his hair with one hand and the ass of his jeans with the other. She tasted like sugary fruit punch and he tasted like Bud Light and it probably wasn't the best combination in the world, but at that time, that moment, it was like ambrosia and Jack felt immortal.

And she was so good at it, and he knew that he was clumsy because he'd never done this before. There were... things, but this was entirely different from things. She either didn't care about or didn't notice the awkward way he moved his lips and tongue, and let out what had to have been the most stereotypical porn moan when Jack's thumb brushed over-Jesus Christ, was that a nipple?

Her hand went to the fly of his jeans, popping the button open in a smooth motion, and he froze.

"Do you not have a condom? Because I can... you know," she said and it took Jack a minute to process the comment through his own fear, and damn, did she totally misinterpret his stopping.

"I... no, it's not that. I mean, I don't but... um," he stuttered around his words and paused, taking a deep breath, the sort Evelyn had taught him to calm himself down. He realized that his hand was still on her breast and he yelped, pulling it away and taking a step back, his back brushing a cabinet, contents rattling. "I just... I have to leave."

Jack rushed out of the tiny laundry room without taking another look at her and her pretty brown hair or green eyes or stupid, kiss reddened lips.

He twisted through the crowd in the living room, trying not to touch anyone. His skin crawled. He just wanted his brothers and to get the hell out of here and go home and bury himself under his blankets.

His heart was still pounding and he couldn't make it stop and when did it get so hot in here? Jack spotted the front door and went for it.

The winter air felt like heaven against his bare arms, and the shock was enough to help clear his mind a little.

They had been there for a while already, so maybe if he found one of his brothers and told them that he wanted to go home, they would and everything would be fine. He could always threaten to tell mom. Problem was he didn't know where any of them were, and he didn't want to go back inside because it was hot and crowded and full of Cindy and her nipples and wandering hands.

Maybe he would just find the car and sit next to it and wait and-there it was, but he guessed someone else stole his plan, except they were not waiting.

For anything.

Bobby had a girl, some blonde with giant tits and a miniskirt, pressed against the passenger door. His hands were roaming all over her, and they were locked at the mouth like two blood sucking leeches. God, was that how he looked with Cindy? Gross. Jack wanted to barf.

But not as much as he wanted to leave. If there was one thing that beat out every other emotion or fear or desire or physical reaction in Jack, it was his flight response. He didn't feel anxious or scared or even embarrassed as he marched up to Bobby and the woman and made himself known.

"I want to go," he said, and Bobby and the girl separated with a wet pop. Bobby wheeled around to look at him, using each and every fraction of the three inches in height he still had on Jack. Mom always told his brothers to be nice because, before they knew it, Jack was going to be taller than them and they'd be the ones looking up.

"The hell, kid?" he said with a frown, his eyes scanning Jack from head to toe and back again. "Go back inside, it's freezing out."

Some part of Jack's brain registered the cold biting into his arms, but he pushed the feeling away. "I want to go home," he repeated, and felt pressure start to build behind his eyes. Why couldn't Bobby just listen for once?

"I'm kind of busy," Bobby said, jerking his head toward the woman he'd been previously occupied with. She looked bored and a little pissed off, glaring at Jack like he had ruined her plans. "Go back inside and hang out with Angel or something."

Jack bit his tongue to keep from screaming as Bobby turned away from him and continued kissing the girl. There wasn't a chance in hell he was going back into that house. Not for anything, and if Bobby wasn't going to help him, then Jack would just have to get home himself.

So he started walking down the sidewalk in the direction he hoped would get him home. Maybe Bobby was checking to make sure he went inside, because not five seconds passed before he heard his name called out.

He wasn't going to stop, though. He wasn't going back inside and that was that and Bobby couldn't make him. A hand pulled on his shoulder and he shoved it off. He only stopped when Bobby circled around him and blocked his path.

"The hell is your problem?" he demanded, and shit did he look pissed.

"Goin' home," Jack said, not looking up from Bobby's chest. His jacket had a rip in the pocket.

"The fuck you are, fairy," Bobby said. "It's freezing and dark. Where the hell is your coat?"

Jack's eyes snapped to Bobby's face then. So that was why he was cold. It had been so warm and Cindy's hands were on him, stroking his chest and pushing the jacket off of his shoulders to let it fall forgotten to the floor, her hands warm and soft and trailing along his arms, giving him goosebumps.

"Jack," Bobby said and there was enough urgency in the man's voice to make Jack's eyes focus again. He tried to brush the tear away, but the damage had been done and the anger melted from Bobby's face as quickly as it had blossomed. He put his hands on Jack's shoulders and just looked at him for a moment. His stare was intense, so much that Jack had to look away and focus on the torn pocket again, swallowing around the lump in his throat and forcing the tears to stay put.

"Get in the car," he said and twisted Jack around by the shoulders, half pushing him towards the vehicle. They stopped near the passenger door, which was still covered by the blonde. Bobby jerked his head at the house. "Beat it."

She scrunched up her face, clearly offended by the man's casual rejection of her.

"I said beat it," Bobby said when she didn't move quick enough. "Go find some other guy."

She left in a huff, but she left, and that was the important part. Bobby opened the passenger door and pushed Jack in.

The seats were cold, the leather-like material almost worse than the winter air. Bobby circled around the front and hopped in, shoved the keys in the ignition and the car roared to life, frigid air blasting out of the vents.

Jack winced and Bobby turned it off. They just sat there for a while, not speaking and waiting for the air to warm up. When it had, Bobby put it on full blast and Jack realized how cold he was before.

He didn't feel so much like crying anymore, but he still didn't want to look at Bobby. He was worse than Evelyn sometimes when it came to making Jack talk.

"I figure we can either go home, and I make you tell me what all this is about," Bobby said, hands gripping the steering wheel. For all his protests against Jack being girly or a fairy, he sure as hell liked to make his little brother talk about his feelings. "Or I can take you for a burger and you tell me then."

And he was good at it, too, the perfect combination of threats and bribery. Jack watched the fog form on the window.

"Either way," Bobby went on. "You're gonna tell me."

"Burger," Jack mumbled after a moment of thought. It had been a long time since dinner, and, as Evelyn mentioned every time she had to buy Jack new jeans because the ones she bought last month were too short, he was a growing boy.

"OK then," Bobby said, but made no move to drive. "One thing first. Is this some emotional-personal crap, or did somebody hurt you?"

"No," Jack said. "No one hurt me." It wasn't really a lie. Nobody had hurt him. Today. And that was what Bobby asked about, so it was okay.


	2. Chapter 2

It was never dark in Detroit. Not between street lamps and businesses and the traffic that never let up. They were parked in the far corner of the McDonald's parking lot, heater off but car still warm from the drive. The windows were beginning to fog, and the light from the big M sign streamed through them, just enough that they could see their food.

Jack had a Big Mac, and for once Bobby hadn't teased him about getting a Happy Meal. His brother was eating his own burger, not bothering to use any of the manners he had learned in the care of Evelyn Mercer, his lips smacking loudly as he held his burger in one hand and a shake in the other.

Jack picked at his half finished burger. He wasn't as hungry as he thought. The untouched fries lay forgotten. Jack wrapped up what remained of his burger and tossed it in the bag. Bobby's chewing stopped.

"You wanna tell me what this is all about? 'Cause, goddamn, Jack," Bobby said, and Jack could hear the strained, insincere smile in his voice. "I was gonna score."

Jack wiped a finger over the window, drawing a meaningless pattern in the fog. He felt tired now. No longer scared or sad or on the edge of breaking down or whatever the fuck all that back at the party had been. Just tired, and strangely without emotions, like he had felt them all already and now there was nothing left and he was just drained. A dull headache was forming just behind his eyes.

"Why do people do it?" he said, watching the headlights of cars fly by on the road, making the interior of the car brighter for just a fleeting second. It hurt his eyes, but he was okay with the hurt right now.

"Do what?" Bobby asked.

Jack wasn't really sure what he was asking. It could have been 'why do people hurt each other?' or 'why do people try to go so fast?' or even 'why do people scare me so much?' But one question seemed to loom above the others. For those, Jack at least had some answers, a partial understanding. For this one, he was completely lost.

"Why do people have sex?"

Whatever answer Bobby was expecting, that obviously wasn't it. He was midway through a sip of his shake, and stopped like a deer in the headlights of an oncoming semi before sputtering and spitting bright pink ice cream over his coat. He coughed a few more times and gasped for air.

Jack usually avoided anything to do with sex, got quiet and left the room when his brothers talked about it. But tonight was different. If there was anything that could give his flight response a run for its money, it was his need to understand when something truly, profoundly perplexed him.

He reached into the bag and handed Bobby a clump of napkins.

Bobby wiped himself off and coughed a few more times, cleared his throat and eyed Jack from the side. For once, Jack maintained eye contact. He wanted an answer, and he wasn't leaving without one.

"Jesus. Um, didn't Ma...?" Bobby said, stammering. Jack almost laughed. The great Bobby Mercer, stammering about sex. "Christ, you know where babies come from, don't you?"

Jack rolled his eyes. "I get that part," he said. "But why do people do it? How do people enjoy it?"

Bobby looked like he had just been asked to explain the finer points of calculus. "Fuck, Jack," Bobby said with a groan, smoothing his hair back. It was starting to get long, the very ends now nearly touching the collar of his shirt. He usually smoothed it back with gel, but it got messed up somehow, and now little strands were falling in his face. "It feels good."

"How?"

"It just does," Bobby said, and he was sounding frustrated now. "Does this have something to do with that hickey? And the fact that your pants are unbuttoned?"

It was Jack's turn to be a deer in the headlights, and his face flushed warm and crimson in seconds. He scrambled for his pants, fingers shaking as he slipped the button back into place.

"Girl or boy?" Bobby asked, an amused glint in his eyes.

"Girl, asshole," Jack said. "I'm not gay."

Bobby laughed. Jack didn't understand why he couldn't just leave it alone. Jack wasn't gay, dammit. Sure, he didn't really have crushes on girls yet or do... the things that he knew other boys his age did, but that didn't make him gay. Maybe the girls in Angel's magazines were just too weird or fake or old for him to appreciate. And hell, Cindy was pretty. A blind guy could see that.

"Fine," Bobby said, choking back the last of his laughter. His voice became serious again. "Why you freaking out so bad, kid?"

"I," he started, but didn't know exactly how to explain it in a way that wouldn't make Bobby laugh at him. He rubbed his hands over his bare arms. It was starting to get cold again. Bobby turned on the car and the heat came back on, not quite warm but also not nearly as cold as it was outside.

"Everything was fine," Jack said. "It was all going fine. I was kissing her, and there were hands, but she reached for my pants and I just... froze. And then I left her there and I found you because I just had to leave."

A hand reached for his shoulder. "Calm down, man," Bobby said and Jack didn't realize how fast he had been talking. He looked at Bobby and now, talking about it, he sort of felt like he was going to cry again and he didn't even know why. He was a teenage boy and teenage boys were supposed to like girls, like kissing and touching them, especially when those girls were feeling him up and asking if he had a condom. That was every teenage boy's dream; a pretty, ready, and willing girl.

Why the hell couldn't he just be normal?

"Why do I feel like this?" he asked, even though he knew that Bobby probably couldn't give him an answer. Jack couldn't answer it himself and they were his feelings. His breath was coming in fast and short and he was starting to feel light headed, and like maybe that little bit of a Big Mac was about to come back up.

"Calm down, Jack," Bobby said. "Deep breaths."

Jack shut his eyes and tried to work on breathing, slow and steady. In his nose for ten Mississippi seconds and then out his mouth for the same. Just like Evelyn taught him. He did the cycle three times before he felt calm enough to open his eyes. Bobby was looking at him concerned, his brow furrowed and his hand still on Jack's shoulder, like the younger boy might slump over or try to run like he used to when confronted with a problem.

"There, better," he said, and gave Jack's shoulder a squeeze before letting go and leaning back into his seat.

Jack bit his lip, looking out the window and feeling a hell of a lot more insecure and less brave than when this conversation started.

"You're thirteen," Bobby said after a few minutes in silence. It wasn't good when Bobby paused for long in a conversation. It meant he was thinking, and Bobby thinking was a dangerous thing. "You're practically a kid. You don't have to be doing this stuff. Hell, you didn't hear it from me, but you probably shouldn't, OK? Find a girl and kiss her, make out, but... you got your entire life for other shit, Jack. Besides, mom would be pissed."

Jack's calm breathing was interrupted by laughter, spilling out of his mouth like a geyser, completely uncontrolled. It took him a minute to reign it in, and by the time he did, his breathing was fast and his face flushed for entirely different reasons than all the other times that night. The thought of their mother being angry over something so typically teenage after everything she had been through with each of her four sons was hilarious. Concerned, maybe. Worried or anxious. But angry? Anger was not Evelyn Mercer's style, and it took something of epic proportions to bring out the beast in that woman.

"No she wouldn't," he said, and gave another snort of laughter. "Last month she talked about how fast I was growing up and," he lowered his voice for the next part, like he was sharing a secret. Maybe he was. "Offered to buy me condoms if I needed them."

Bobby rolled his eyes, but the smile on his lips gave away his amusement. "You too, huh?" he said. "Did the same thing with me and Jer and Ang. Could never take her up on it, though. Always bought my own, and your pansy ass sisters came to me for 'em."

The mood in the car had lightened considerably, and Jack almost felt back to normal after the fit of laughter. Evelyn said sometimes how a big emotional outburst-crying or laughing or yelling and screaming-made you feel better. Maybe it was like puking, how you always felt better afterward even if the experience itself wasn't entirely pleasant.

He had outbursts though, plenty of them, and a fit of laughter was the way to do it. He felt better than he had since they arrived at the party.

"Just," Bobby said, voice growing serious again. "You don't have to rush shit, kid. You're thirteen, and it's not like there's some race to lose your virginity."

He sighed, but his lips were still raised in the corner from laughing.

"It's weird," he said, rubbing a palm over his leg. "It's not even that. I'm no virgin. You say it feels good, but it doesn't. It just feels-"


	3. Chapter 3

It was one of those offhand comments, the product of his innate honesty that just came out without any forethought. He couldn't lie for shit, and that was a part of the reason. The truth sprung to his lips faster than he could think up a lie, much less less a convincing one. Jack hated it, but he guessed it made Evelyn's job easier.

Jack clamped his mouth shut when he realized what he was saying. Everything seemed to slow down. He could see every minute movement of the strands of hair that had fallen into Bobby's face as the heater blew them. He didn't feel his heartbeat so much as hear it, the blood pumping through his body and bringing life to every cell.

"You're no what?" Bobby asked and all Jack's hopes that the comment would be ignored or brushed off shattered.

Jack bit his lips together and kept his eyes on the dashboard. Maybe if he stayed quiet, Bobby would let it slide.

"You're no  _what_?" Bobby's voice sounded far away and muddled, lost behind the rush of blood.

Jack reached for the burger bag, but Bobby's hand stopped him. He didn't ask the question again, but when Jack glanced up, the look is Bobby's eyes demanded an answer.

"A virgin," he mumbles. "No virgin."

Bobby frowned. "You just said she put her hand on your crotch," he said, confusion clear in his eyes. "You didn't say you got that far."

"I didn't," Jack said. There was no use lying or turning back now, not when Bobby's full attention was on him. He'd said too damn much and now Bobby was going to ask questions, ones Jack wasn't sure he could answer.

That just made his brother look all the more confused, and Bobby looked away from him, out of the window of the car and into the semi-darkness of the Detroit night.

Damage control. That's what Jack needed. Too bad he was shit at that and the best thing he could do was try to talk about something else.

"Can we go home?" he said. "I'm tired and we're done and crisis totally averted, so we don't need to stay out here. We can just go home."

"No," Bobby said in that firm don't-argue-with-me tone. He licked his lips, still not looking at Jack. When he started again, it was in the I'm-about-to-have-a-really-tough-discussion tone. "Jack-"

"Leave it alone, Bobby," he said, swallowing thickly and closing his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. The headache was back in full force. He wished he hadn't finished his soda already, just so he would have something to distract him.

"I can't just leave it alone!" Bobby said. "You have this panic attack about how you don't get how people like sex and then you tell me you've had sex and-"

Bobby went quiet and Jack knew he'd figured it out.

He opened his eyes. Bobby's posture was aggressive, shoulders tense and squared and jaw set. His eyes burned with anger. Jack was a little scared, even if he knew it wasn't at him. It was for him, and that was scary too. Two and a half years, and he still wasn't used to people caring so much.

He would give anything to take it back. One stupid comment and there it was. Now Bobby knew how stupid and pathetic he was, how weak. He hated the pity that came with the abuse more than anything. Being broken he could handle, but being treated like glass… being treated like the last three years of gluing the pieces together wasn't good enough.

Bobby's hands clutched the steering wheel, and Jack knew his knuckles were a bloodless white, even if the big McDonalds sign was turning them yellow. A muscle in his jaw was jumping out every few seconds, and his nostrils flared.

"Who?" he said through gritted teeth.

Avoidance suddenly sounded very good. "I don't want to talk about this anymore. I want to go home."

"Fucking tell me," Bobby all but screamed, slamming his palms hard against the steering wheel. Jack flinched and Bobby lowered his voice. "Tell me so I can fucking gut 'em."

"It's not important," Jack said.

"The fuck it isn't, Jack. What could be more important than this?"

Jack groaned and rubbed at his temples. Bobby and his fucking bloodlust was not what he wanted to deal with right now.

"He's in prison," Jack said. "And even if he wasn't it's not important enough for you to go out and land yourself there."

Bobby didn't respond. He stared straight ahead through the windshield, and his breath was coming in slower now. Mom had to teach all of them that breathing technique, though Jack always figured he was the only one who really used it. His brothers tended to just give into their anger, except Jerry who prided himself on being Mr. Calm Cool & Collected. He might have to reevaluate that assumption.

Jack caught sight of the ripped pocket of Bobby's coat and felt a very sudden stab of guilt. His chest tightened and he felt his headache flare. He'd ruined Bobby's night, in more ways than one. Not only did he end up leaving the party to deal with his lame kid brother, but said lame kid brother went and blabbed about issues that were all the better left in the past. On top of that, it ruined Bobby's chance at a girl.

"I'm sorry," Jack muttered, closing his eyes and resting his head against the window, hoping that it would work something like an ice pack for his aching head.

He didn't have much time to test his theory, though, because a hand grabbed him by the back of the neck and pulled him against a solid, warm chest.

"You got nothing to be sorry for," Bobby said, holding Jack tight against him in a one armed embrace. It took him awhile, but Jack returned to hug. His shoulders relaxed, the tension they had held most of the night beginning to evaporate. He'd deny it later, but he buried his face against Bobby, breathing in the scent of his hair gel and cologne.

He didn't let them hug him much. His brothers, at least. Evelyn... her he couldn't stop if he wanted to. Her hugs were tight and warm and two or three or six times a day when she could manage. But Jerry and Angel and Bobby, them he didn't really touch or allow to touch him. There were unspoken boundaries that were rarely crossed. A pat or a grab on his shoulders or a hair ruffle was one thing. Stealing the remote, pushing him around was one thing. But not hugs. Not to say it had never happened, just not often and never when Jack was in such a clear state of mind.

Maybe that was why he was the first one to pull away. It was still strange, even if being held by his brother made him feel safe in a way that only Evelyn had before.

But he still pulled away, and Bobby didn't seem to mind, retreating into his own space but keeping a watchful eye on Jack.

Jack fidgeted with the heating vent, opening and closing it. Then he yawned and Bobby laughed, but the sound lacked the mirth that usually accompanied it.

"Guess we should head home," he said, releasing the parking brake. "It is past your bedtime."

"Shut up," he said. "It's not even-"

His words died when he saw the clock. Half past midnight. It wasn't that Jack really had a bedtime (it was last year that Evelyn told him, as long as she didn't get calls about him sleeping in class, he was old enough to decide for himself), or that he couldn't stay up late. Just... he'd been up since seven for school, and beer always made him sleepy regardless.

Bobby pulled into traffic and they sat for a while. Jack could feel how angry Bobby still was, even though his posture had calmed and he didn't quite hold a death grip on the steering wheel anymore.

"I just kinda figured you knew," he muttered as they began to enter their neighborhood. It was still a few minutes away from home, but Jack could recognize most of the streets and businesses now.

"Why'd you think that?"

Jack shrugged. "I dunno," he said. He didn't want to look at Bobby, but a part of him felt like he owed his brother that much. "The way you all acted around me when I got there. Like I was gonna fucking break. I always just figured that... that mom told you or you read my file or something."

"She told us some stuff," Bobby said, then licked his lips and sighed. "Just to think about how we act and how you might see it. But damn, Jack, there could be a lot of reasons for that shit. I seen a lot of ma's emergency placements skittish as hell for all kinds of reasons. I knew there was something, but I didn't... I never..."

His voice trailed off, fading weakly at the end like the last note of a concert. Bobby wasn't the emotional sort, at least not if it wasn't anger or sadistic glee. But he seemed... well, he was angry, but under all that, he seemed sad and maybe a little...

"I should have known."

Guilty. That was it. Bobby took his job as a big brother seriously, sometimes too serious for Jack's tastes. They'd gotten into it more than once about Bobby trying to play the role of disciplinarian or parent. But under it all, the arguing and the bossing and the backhanded comments, there was love and concern and a drive to make Evelyn proud, to show that he wasn't a complete fuck up in every way imaginable. To show that, with his brothers at least, he could do right.

They all had complexes. They all had issues, demons under the bed, and skeletons in the closet. They were all fucked up, even if they didn't know it. Maybe Bobby's issue was that he did know exactly how much of a fuck up he was, and he never felt worthy of the life Evelyn had given him because of it. Jack didn't always feel like he deserved her either, and... hell, maybe the woman was right when she said how alike he and Bobby were.

He probably would have hugged Bobby then, if the man wasn't driving.


	4. Chapter 4

Jack shut the car door and rubbed his arms. It was even colder out now, and the air was biting insistently into his skin at first contact. His breath came out in clouds of mist, and he didn't wait for Bobby as he jogged up the walkway to the enclosed porch of his home. There was still a light on in the living room.

No one would guess that Evelyn Mercer was a night owl, but on weekends she could often be found up later than her sons, watching the old westerns she adored. Sometimes Jack would sit up with her. He didn't care much for the movies-they were hokey and filled with bad acting and worse plots. But it was one of those things he did to spend time with her, like cooking or going to the grocery store. He didn't mind being her helper, or even his brothers mocking him about it, as long as he got some time with her. His life had sorely lacked a proper parental figure for so many years that he figured he'd earned the right to be a little attached.

Jack pulled out his keys and unlocked the door, the cold knob burning against his fingers. It popped open with a click, and he dashed into the warmth and safety of the house.

Sure enough, there she was, seated on the couch in her robe, hair in curlers and a half eaten bowl of popcorn beside her. She looked up at him and smiled, and Jack found himself smiling back. From the TV, Jack could hear gunshots and the hoof beats of horses.

"I wasn't expecting you home yet, dear," she said, looking up briefly from the television screen. Her hair was a silver-blonde, almost blue in the spots where the light of the television flickered off it. "Did you have fun with your brothers?"

"Yeah," he said. He was only able to lie without being too obvious because he'd practiced in the car during the silent remainder of their drive. One word responses made everything easier.

"Good," she said, and before she could go in, the door popped open again and in walked Bobby. He stopped in the hallway next to Jack.

"Hey, ma," he said. "John Wayne?"

"Gary Cooper," she said. Her smile faded after a few moments and her eyes glanced to the curtained window. "Did you forget something, Bobby?"

Bobby frowned, looking from Evelyn to Jack to the door and back again.

"You brought Jack back," she said. "Are you heading back out...?"

"No," Bobby said, still frowning. "I brought him back in one piece, mom, just like you said. Ten fingers and toes and everything. You can count."

Jack raised up both his hands as if to prove a point, but lowered them when he caught on. His mouth formed a perfect O before he slammed it shut to stop himself from laughing.

"What?" Bobby said, his voice taking on an edge of annoyance.

"I expected you to bring  _all_  of your brothers home in one piece, Bobby," Evelyn said, but her voice and her face were not without a trace of amusement.

Bobby's face froze, the frown fading as the surprise set in.

"Dammit," he said, and was back out the door without another word. Jack stared at it for a few seconds, vaguely registering the sound of the car door slamming and the engine turning over, and then burst out laughing.

Even Evelyn let out a chuckle as Jack moved to lock the door. Their neighborhood wasn't the worst around, but it wasn't the best and the Mercer boys had pissed off more than one person in their day, so they never took chances. Everyone had a key, so it wasn't an issue to lock the door anytime it was dark out.

When Jack walked back into the living room, the TV was quieter and Evelyn was looking at him with that suspicious gleam in her eyes. She patted the spot on the couch next to her, the bowl of popcorn moved to an end table.

"Will you come sit with me, Jackie?" she said. She had a way of asking for things that made it very clear it was not truly a question or optional. The weirdest part was that you didn't really feel like you were being forced, either. She asked that same way for a lot of things, and more than once Jack had found himself halfway through a sink of dishes before he realized that he didn't want to do them.

So Jack obeyed, because a part of him wanted to, even if he was a little afraid of her asking him about tonight or smelling the beer on his breath or Cindy's perfume on his clothes. It was flowery, and far too concentrated to explain away by being in the same room as someone.

"What did you and your brothers do tonight, sweetie?" Another loaded question. She asked everything like it was casual curiosity, and not like she was fishing for information on her oldest sons' behavior.

"Went to hang out with some people," he said. The practice was paying off, and the lie slipped from his tongue like oil.

"Some of your brothers friends?" she asked. Jack nodded. "How did Bobby manage to forget Angel and Jerry?"

Jack smiled at that. He kinda liked it when Bobby got in trouble, even if it wasn't really getting in trouble. Truthfully, Jack forgot too, and he didn't blame either of them for doing so. Hell, his brothers probably hadn't noticed.

"We went and got a burger," he said. "Then I said I was tired. Think I'm going to bed."

Jack made to stand up, but Evelyn's hand on his arm kept him down.

"Is there something you want to talk about?"

Jack bit his lips together, and his eyes went down to her hand, his warm soft skin touching his arm.

"No," he mumbled, but he couldn't meet her eye. He could imagine the look in her face, the one that knew he was hiding something. But she wouldn't push, not unless she knew she had to.

"Alright then," she said and Jack tried to rise again, but her hand was still holding onto him. "No goodnight hug for your mother?"

Jack smiled and hugged her. Her hugs were always warm and tight and soft and full of love and joy. She squeezed him and kissed his cheek and ruffled his hair, making it even messier than it was before.

"I love you, Jackie," she said as she released him. "Sleep tight."

"Love you too, mom," he said, and climbed the stairs to his room.


	5. Chapter 5

It was three AM and his ceiling was no more interesting than it was at two AM or any point since he had sent himself up to bed. He was tired, his body and his mind, but he simply couldn't sleep. Something, a tickle or a sting or  _something_ , jumped out in the back of his mind every time he closed his eyes.

So he stared at the ceiling. He knew it so well by now, had spent so many restless nights studying the notches and bumps and grooves, that he probably would have been able to tell if an errant mote of dust landed somewhere.

But it was getting boring now. He flopped over onto his stomach, turning the pillow as he did so, and rested his cheek against the cool surface and sighed.

There would be no sleep anytime soon. At least tomorrow was a Saturday and mom would let him sleep in.

He kicked his blanket down and swung his legs over the side. The room wasn't cold, but the air still shocked his bare legs, newly emerged from their cocoon of blankets. He stretched his arms and groaned.

He fumbled in the darkness of the room, grabbing the jeans he had discarded earlier and pulling them up over his boxers. He slid open the drawer of his bedside table and took out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, shoved them into his pockets.

He reached for his jacket, the back of the chair he usually kept it over, but found nothing but empty space.

It was probably still on the laundry room floor of that house, maybe stepped on or puked on or even fucked on by someone seeking out the privacy he had with Cindy.

It would be cold as balls outside.

He grabbed his blanket and slung it around his shoulders. The window slid open easily, silent ever since Jack had oiled it.

He was well practiced getting on to that roof. It was what he liked most about his room, even back in the days when he couldn't quite accept it as his. Back then, it had been because the window was an exit, his way out if things got too stressful or, he feared, violent. Now, it was more the calm that came with the roof of the porch. It was his place to get away and think, without walls coming down on him from every side.

It was cold as balls and hard to climb out with the blanket, but he managed without stumbling or causing a commotion. He grabbed a paperback from the floor and wedged it between the frame and window. The cold air bit at his toes as he sat down, drawing his knees to his chest and wrapping himself in the blanket.

The air smelled clean, held the crisp tint that always preceded snow. It was almost a shame to pollute the nighttime air with his cigarette.

Almost.

He lit up the stick and inhaled, holding the smoke in his lungs for a full five seconds and then slowly let it out, watching as the smoke wafted up while the condensated breath faded away.

With the cloud cover, no stars were visible and the moon was a big soft halo. Jack had hoped for a more pleasant sight, but it would have to do.

His cigarette was almost to the filter when he heard the footsteps behind him. Bobby. Always Bobby who checked on them-him and mom and sometimes even Angel and Jerry when he wasn't living with Camille. Always the insomniac, worse than Jack even. He filled his nights with infomercials and satisfaction in the knowledge that his family was safe.

The window slid open, clean and quiet and Jack wouldn't have heard it if he wasn't anticipating it.

"Jesus," was the first thing Bobby said after he sat down next to Jack, his voice hushed and soft as he could make it. Mom's window was over this part of the roof, too, and neither one fancied waking her up. "Cold as balls."

Jack laughed, breath rising up into the starless sky, and stubbed his cigarette out on the shingles.

"Weird saying, man," he said. His voice was low and rough now. It had been doing that more and more lately, but he only minded so much because he seemed to have been spared that awful squeaking so many other boys got. Maybe it was the cigarettes. He cleared his throat. "Balls are warm."

"You'd know," Bobby said with a smirk. But then that smirk fell and his eyes widened just a fraction of an inch and he cast Jack a quick sidelong glance. "Shit, Jack, I didn't mean to-"

"Don't," Jack said, his voice snapping tense as anger welled up inside of him, rushed up when he saw the widening of Bobby's eyes. "Don't fucking start doing that."

Bobby still looked at him, but shut his mouth, licked his lips and swallowed. He looked like he wanted to ask, but something was holding him back, and that just pissed Jack off more.

"Don't start treating me like that just because you know," he said. "I hate that, more than anything. I hate how people start treating me with kids gloves or like I'm gonna break. Don't do that to me."

"Jack..."

"No," Jack cut his hand in front of Bobby's face. He grabbed another cigarette and lit it up, not even caring about the disgusted look Bobby gave him. At least the man's distaste for his smoking hadn't changed. "Just... look. It's been years, and I'm not saying it's OK or whatever because it's not, but... I can deal with it, yeah? But I can't deal with..."

He inhaled and licked his lips, savoring the momentary spike in tobacco flavor. He opened his mouth and closed it again, not sure how to say it right, say it so Bobby would get it. He needed his brother to understand.

"I can't deal with it defining me to you."

He was looking at his legs as he said it, tracing a finger over the soft fabric stretched over his knees. That was all he wanted, for people to just forget they knew like Jack wished he could forget. He couldn't stand it, the looks he got. He was weak and powerless, and their stares just reminded him of that.

"That mean you still want me to call you fairy?"

Jack glanced at him, took a drag of his cigarette, almost smiled at the smirk playing on Bobby's lips. "Well, you can stop that one if you want."

Bobby shook his head, the loose strands of hair falling into his face. "You don't want nothing to change, then nothing'll change."

Bobby's hand gripped his shoulder as he said it, and Jack looked at him full on. He knew it wasn't a lie. Not because Bobby was honest or because Jack knew when he was lying, because the man could lie better than anyone, and sometimes even to mom. It was because... well, Bobby was good at two things in life, and one of them was being a big brother, and he always tried his damnedest with Jack.

"Thanks, Bobby," he said, snuffing his cigarette out on the shingles. He took a deep breath, and savored the way it burned his lungs. Bobby didn't say anything, didn't move or draw his hand away or make it tighter either. Just kept it there, a comfortable weight, one of the few forms of contact that Jack not only tolerated, but enjoyed. He didn't get touched a lot, and didn't mind that, but sometimes it was nice, when the time and the touch and the person were right and safe.

"Look, this, uh, this doesn't change anything," Bobby said, his tone more serious and less playful now. "But that don't mean I'm not worried."

"What does this change, man?" Jack said. "You said you always knew there was something."

"This is a different kind of something, Jack. I seen a lot of the kids mom's worked with... I just seen them not deal with it well, alright?"

Jack bit his lip. He didn't know what that meant. He didn't know if that included him or not. He didn't know if he dealt with it well, or maybe just didn't deal with it at all. Hell, he just tried not to think about it, and it really only came to mind in the darkness of his bedroom. There were other times, things mom called "triggers," but they were few and far between. The last one was months ago. Angel had called him pretty and earned a bloody nose for his trouble. Jack sealed himself up inside his room, shaking and making fists so he wouldn't tear his own skin off, until mom came and talked to him and hugged him until the tremors went away.

He'd said sorry to Angel, but the older boy just congratulated him on his right hook, joking that they better not piss him off or he'd have them down before they could blink.

And tonight. It had felt good, to touch her, to kiss her, and to touch and be kissed in return. But that moment, her hand on his crotch, had made everything swoop back and all the good feeling evaporated like breath in deep winter.

_You like that, don't you? Say you like it, Jack._

Jack shuddered, his skin crawling at the memory of the man's voice. That and the smell were worst, the Pine Sol and bleach. Jack was already beginning to forget his face, perhaps because he always averted his gaze in that house. For two and a half whole years, he had looked at necks or shoulders or feet. It was the voice and the smell that cameoed in Jack's nightmares, their owner bathed in a shadow.

"Let me know what's up, ya?" Bobby said. He was good with people, even if he didn't believe it. Or maybe he was just good with Jack, but he knew when not to mention something as well as when to do so. Bobby's hand left his shoulder and he stood up. "Now get some sleep. Mom wants us to clean out the attic tomorrow, and it's all your fault."

Jack frowned at Bobby. "How is it my fault?" he said.

"She was mad that her baby came home smelling like beer," Bobby said, slinking in through the window and leaving Jack alone.

Jack shook his head. Figured he'd get pegged for the beers. Not like he could deny her a goodnight hug.

Jack smoked one more cigarette, savoring the flavor and the cool night air. He was getting sleepy now, the sort where you could barely keep your eyes open. After a long drag, he pried his eyes open. It wouldn't do to fall asleep on the roof. He stubbed the cigarette out, adding it to the little pile he would have to take care of later. He knew mom snooped around on the roof, and while she grudgingly accepted that she couldn't get him to give up his smoking habit, she didn't like finding butts all around.

He slowly went back in through the window, dragging the blanket behind him. The part exposed to the air was freezing cold now, but thankfully the snow had decided to wait, so it was just a matter of waiting for it to warm up. He threw the blanket back onto his bed and closed the window, snapping the lock into place.

He turned around, taking in the darkness of his room. It was never really dark in Detroit, and yellow light from the street lamps lit his room.

He frowned, one hand pausing on the button of his jeans. There, on the back of his desk chair, was his jacket.

He smiled. Sometimes Bobby was the best brother a guy could have.


End file.
